Terror Over The Atlantic
by Xenitha
Summary: Written for the TIWF "Face the Fear" Challenge. Why Scott worries; follow up to Terror in New York City.


Editor's Note: The dialogue while Virgil and Scott are in the air is taken directly from the episode "Terror in New York", written by Alan Fennell, and of course Thunderbirds isn't mine. It belongs to Granada and whoever Gerry and Sylvia Anderson assigned the rights to. The rest is mine.

Terror Over the Atlantic

Maybe I worry too much. That's what I told Father, and it's no more than the truth. But the most important part of my job is worry. I'm the oldest son in the family and it's second nature to watch out for my brothers. On a call, I'm responsible for their safety. My decisions could preserve their lives. Or take them. If a brother died on my watch, I don't think I could survive it.

What I don't talk about, that keeps me up at night and makes me wake up in a cold sweat is the fear of watching a loved one die and being helpless to save them. I watched my Mom die when I was a kid. It almost happened to my brother Virgil that day and still makes my stomach turn when I think about it.

I never figured that anybody would take a bead on Thunderbird Two. Thunderbird One goes first to the danger zone and leaves the danger zone first as well. That way if there are dangerous conditions, I see them first and can guard the others against it. Any risk threatens, I make sure I'm first in line.

That day over the ocean, it should have been me on the other end of those missiles. I've had the training and the combat experience, Virgil hasn't. Oh, sure, after I got shot down over the Sahara, I set up some combat simulations for my brothers, but it was basic stuff. Thunderbird Two isn't the most agile of aircraft, which is why I should have been there, not Virgil. It should have been me.

It had been a long day at an oil well fire. I was greasy dirty from the smoke and wanted nothing more than to get home, shower and change into some clean clothing.

Even though he'd been warned, Ned Cook waited until my takeoff to begin shooting footage of Thunderbird One. When my camera detector went off, I knew what had happened. I aborted takeoff, flew over their camera truck and asked nicely for them to destroy the footage. Nothin' doing. Ned gave me a song and dance about how he had to do his job as a reporter, then took off like a bat out of hell.

Nothing beats Thunderbird One for speed. I soon caught up with them and electromagnetically wiped their video blank, then took off for home.

Because of that delay, Virgil was ahead of me over the Atlantic. Everything was calm, the weather was good when Virgil caught the first sign of trouble.

"Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Two—picking up radar reflection of surface vessel," Virgil radioed me.

I answered, "So what's so special about that?"

"Its speed, Scott. It's phenomenal." Virgil sounded really impressed. I checked my instruments and was soon tracking a ship going 450 knots. Gordon's hydrofoil had self-destructed at 400. This must be something new.

Then I remembered some gossip I'd heard from an old service buddy and called Virg back. "Hey it could be the Sentinel, the Navy's new strike vessel."

"Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Two. I'm going to to change my course, Scott. The Sentinel must be tracking us and I don't want to give them a steer to our home base." Virgil was thinking ahead; that was a smart move.

"Yeah, good idea Virgil, I'll do the same when I get closer. Resume course for base when you're out of range."

Virgil replied, "FAB".

Now, over the years we've seen plenty of military craft before, both in the air and the sea. Most of the time they don't even notice us. Usually, we just pass each other. If they see that I'm International Rescue, I might get a dip of the wings in passing. I was horrified at what Virgil called in next.

"Missiles! Thunderbird One and Base from Thunderbird Two! Under missile attack!"

What the hell? Somebody was trying to shoot down Thunderbird Two! I throttled up and increased to speed ultimate. "Virgil..switch on the jammer. Try and throw 'em off course," I grated in reply.

"I think it's too late, Scott!"

"Well take evasive action!" Dammit, Virg, we practiced this on those sims!

Virgil replied, "FAB."

I waited for the tensest two minutes I've ever known. I wasn't in range yet and couldn't see a damned thing. All I had to go on was what Virgil was telling me. Didn't dare call and ask; I'd distract him while he was fighting for his life. Worst of all, Virgil couldn't fire back. Oh, he's got the firepower all right, more than Thunderbird One. But if we want to be seen as an apolitical, peaceful and above all, non-dangerous organization, we can't fire on the military, even in self-defense. That's when it hit me: _this is the first time he's been under fire. He doesn't know what to do._

Those simulator programs weren't enough. I hadn't taken into account the heavier weight of Thunderbird Two and her lack of maneuverability. I'd always assumed that any attack would be directed at Thunderbird One. This was _my_ fault. I'd sent my brother out there untrained and unprepared…

Virgil's voice crackled on the radio, he looked petrified. "It's no good, Scott! They're still coming dead at me!"

I had to talk him through this. I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. "Gain altitude, Virgil! Pull her up!" I shouted. I could see Thunderbird Two in the distance. Then I saw an explosion. Bright light and then dark smoke.

My heart in my mouth, I radioed back. "Are you okay, Virgil? Come in Thunderbird Two…" I listened to the silence on the radio, then it came to life.

Virgil looked shaken. "Still here, Scott. Boy, that was close. It exploded right beneath me. Feels like I've got some damage to my tail unit."

My instruments showed a second raft of missiles coming from below. Dammit! We're non-hostile! Why were they shooting at Virgil?

"Here we go again, Scott!"

"Get that jammer working, Virgil. I'm catching up on you fast," I told him. I wasn't in range yet, so I couldn't go in and draw their fire, but I was getting there.

Virgil called, looking panicky. "They've changed frequencies, Scott. They're unchecked. They're coming straight for me!"

I swallowed, feeling the sweat trickling down my forehead. "Hold present altitude and climb one second before impact. We might be able to throw 'em." I saw Thunderbird Two begin to climb but her angle was too shallow. The missiles were headed straight for him.

"More height, Virgil! You need more height!" I shouted into the radio. No reply from him. Nothing….nothing….

I saw her get hit. Her attitude dropped, her nose was down, with thick black smoke and sparks trailing from her tail. I was probably next. Better call base so they'd know what happened to us if we both disappeared into the ocean…

"International Rescue from Thunderbird One."

"Scott? How's Virgil?" Dad looked worried and I couldn't blame him. I softened the truth as much as I could. How do you tell your father it doesn't look good?

"I don't know, Father. I can't get through to him. But he's on fire, I can see him in the distance." I know that Dad could see the terror and helplessness I was feeling.

"I've been on to Washington. Let's hope they can stop this senseless attack," Dad said angrily. I saw the next flight of missiles fired and broke contact. This was it for my brother, and now I was in range too. If they got me, at least Virgil and I would go together.

The missiles suddenly self-destructed well below us. Dad's call to Washington must have worked. But it was too late for Virgil and Thunderbird Two. She was still losing altitude, her tail section clearly aflame.

I tried raising Virgil again. "Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird One. Come in Virgil…Virgil..are you okay?" I struggled to keep my voice professional and calm. No answer. Nothing, just silence.

No, not silence. I heard Two's engines howling as she plummeted toward the ocean. She was trailing heavy black smoke, her rear was engulfed in flames. Was Virgil even still alive in there?

I followed him down, matching speed for speed. He couldn't be dead. I'd know it. Had to try to make contact somehow.

"Virgil, pull her up!" I yelled, desperation in my voice. I swiped the sweat out of my eyes as I listened for the answer that didn't come. "Can you hear me? Come in Thunderbird Two…" Still nothing. "Virgil! You're crashing! Pull her up!" I HAD to get through to him or he was done for.

I saw flames spreading into the body of Thunderbird Two, approaching the cockpit. The howling noise had become a scream, she was heading for the water so fast…

Oh no…God, please no….

"Virgil, get a grip on yourself. You've got to pull out of that dive…" I was begging now.

About ten feet from the water, Thunderbird Two slowly pulled up, heavy smoke and sparks shooting from both jets. I was on her tail and I pulled up too, the bottom of Thunderbird One just touching the spray.

If Virgil hadn't pulled up, if he'd gone into the water…I just don't know what I'd have done.

"How does it look, Virgil?" Come on, ANSWER me…

Virgil's voice came blurry and he looked bad. "I'm not sure, Scott. Engines are running smoothly but the tail section is giving trouble."

I'll say the tail section was giving trouble, it was disintegrating.

Keep him talking. "Well, will you be able to make it back to base?"

And if he couldn't, what could I do to save him? Nothing but water around us and I didn't trust that damned Navy ship.

"I'll let you know," Virgil replied with his usual dry humor. If he could joke, he couldn't be that bad. I took a deep breath and felt better until I had a thought.

"Is the reactor damaged, Virgil?" If the fire had reached the reactor plant, we could be in real trouble.

"I can't tell, Scott. Instrumentation has suffered severe damage," Virgil replied, his voice fading. I could see smoke filling the cockpit around him. The fire had reached the front of the 'bird. He started coughing and barely got out the next sentence.

"How much further to base, Scott?" He was fading.

"Just another ten minutes, Virgil. It's just another ten minutes…Now you'll make it, Virgil…I know you will.." I hoped he didn't read the fake cheer in my voice. He'd heard this tone a hundred times at rescues, spoken to the injured and the dying. Who was I kidding? Virgil could always read me like a book…

Not gonna give up on you, Virg. Not today.

"We're nearly home, Virgil." I let my breath out. This time it was true. "We're nearly home."

Virgil nodded and began approach procedures. "Under-cart down…flaps…down….Banking for final approach…" He looked tired and sounded groggy. I could hear him murmur "… Easy does it…easy…"

He got Thunderbird Two onto the runway and bounced a couple times.

I closed my eyes in relief and let out a long breath. "He's down," then looked back at the runway. He was still moving at speed when Thunderbird Two's wheels collapsed and she started to skid. Fire burst out from under her and began climbing her sides, engulfing her in flames.

"The wheels have gone! I can't hold her…I'm..I'm gonna crash!" I saw Virgil's panicked face, then the contact crackled out.

I put Thunderbird One down on the runway and still don't remember how I got out. I was sprinting down the pavement when the safety nozzles began to shoot dicetyline foam.

I plowed through the foam and got the hatch open. The interior was full of smoke as I fought my way to the cockpit in a darkness lit by small flames. The air was acrid and smelled of melted plastics; I crouched down as low as I could for the breathable air.

I found him unconscious, near the pilot's seat. "C'mon, Virg," I rasped, coughing smoke. "Let's get you out of here." I unlocked his safety harness and pulled his arm around my shoulders, dragging him toward the exit. The smoke thickened, surrounding us in a billowing cloud. I coughed harder, realizing that Virg wasn't breathing. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all. The dark was closing in when two figures in fire suits met us.

Alan and Gordon got us both out of there. The next thing I knew, I was in the sick room with an oxygen cannula in my nose and Virgil was in the next bed being attended to by Brains. Dad was sitting in the chair between the beds.

"How do you feel, son?" he asked.

I pulled the cannula off and sat up, only to be pushed back into the bed. "No, you stay there and that's an order," Father said, handing it back to me and I reluctantly put it on again. "You breathed in some of that smoke, so you'll stay here for a bit.'

I nodded. All the fight had been wrung out of me. "How's Virgil?" I looked over at the other bed and what I could see of him looked battered and burned.

Dad looked at him and sighed. "Smoke inhalation, concussion and burns. He'll be out for a while." He turned back to me, frowning. "That was quite a stunt you pulled, going in unprotected to pull Virgil out." He leaned forward and glared at me. "You could have been killed. Alan and Gordon were on their way."

I looked up at the ceiling and tried to find the words to explain. Dad just shook his head. "I should have expected this. I'm just grateful you both got back. Now, you stay here for the night on oxygen and Brains will release you in the morning." He glanced over at Virgil. "Brains wants to keep Virgil here for a bit longer. He got a lot more smoke than you did and a good crack on the head."

"What about Thunderbird Two?" I asked as he got up.

"Gordon and Alan are hauling her off the runway and into the hangar," Dad said with a sad smile. "Then Alan will put Thunderbird One back into her silo." Before I could say anything, he added, "and he swears he will be very careful with Thunderbird One and not to worry."

I snorted and lay back in bed. Alan knew what would happen if I found so much as a scratch on my 'bird. I wished Thunderbird Two had such minor problems. Brains finished with Virgil and, although he looked terrible, he was still alive. I spent the rest of the day on a nasal cannula listening to Virgil breathe.

Eventually I dozed off. I relived the whole thing multiple times in nightmares; I don't know how many times Virgil died that night but I didn't sleep much. Early the next morning I gave up on sleep. I took that long-awaited shower and got dressed, then did a debrief with Father.

He didn't agree that this was my fault. Dad blamed the Navy hard-heads, taking pot shots at anything that flew by. But I knew, when push came to shove, that Virgil had been unprepared.

I spent the rest of that day and evening programming new simulations, based on the attack on Thunderbird Two. I also began working on some other sims, duplicating dogfights I'd participated in or heard about. And I planned them for each of the 'birds, including Three and Four. Once I had a full training pack, we were all going to get some practice in, even John. I could hear my brothers bitching already.

The next morning, Brains decided Virg could come off the oxygen. We moved him, still sleeping, back into his room. I sat with him and waited for him to wake up.

While sitting there, I reflected that it is amazing that, while working in a rescue organization, I'm seeing almost as much combat as I ever did in the Air Force. When we were forming International Rescue, we decided to include some basic armaments in case of terrorists or thieves or even dicey rescue victims. I'd never really thought that being out there made me a target. Maybe that change in perspective makes me more paranoid and liable to reach for the gun. Or maybe it's the fact that my brothers are the ones in the line of fire.

A while ago, Virgil and I had to go rescue Alan and Grandma off a bridge set to explode. Now, Alan's predicament stemmed from a jealous rival on the racing circuit and had nothing to do with International Rescue. If Alan moved, it would trigger the explosive and the bridge would go up, taking him and Grandma with it. As with Virgil, I spent some time talking him down, trying to hearten him to keep still for just a little bit longer, until I could get there. I was pushing Thunderbird One so much that I swear her seams were creaking.

But the fact remains that my youngest brother was in extreme danger and I responded with what I realize now was deadly force. After we got Alan down off that bridge, I took off to retrieve Alan's race car from the would-be murderers who had stolen it. I fired on them, intending to make them stop and hand the car over. I planned to leave them on the road to walk back to town. Instead, they ran off the road and went out in flames.

Was I justified? I wasn't this hair-trigger in the Air Force. I had command but wasn't this worried about my men. I suppose my professional detachment is pretty thin because of the circumstances. They had threatened my little brother, the one I practically raised. Nobody hurts my family.

And now, somebody tried to kill Virgil, my almost-twin brother. This brother is like the other half of my soul; we've always been close. If he'd hit the water, would I have pulled up in time? I wish I knew. . I suspect that Dad figured out just how much a near thing it was for Virgil and I. Alan told me later that Dad was worried that neither of us would make it home, even though Virgil was the only one actively fired on.

A few hours later, Virg started to wake up and I called Dad. We were both standing there when he cracked his eyes open.

"How are you, Virgil?" Dad said.

Poor Virgil looked like hell. "Welcome back to the land of the living," I said and meant it literally.

"What happened to Thunderbird Two?" Was the first thing Virgil said. Typical.

"Now quit worrying about that. She was badly damaged but she's going to be okay," Dad said firmly.

"There's nothing that a few weeks' work won't put right," I added, trying to sound cheerful.

"A few weeks! But that's terrible! Suppose she's needed on call?" Virgil demanded.

"Well, let's hope she's not. Now you relax, you need a lot of rest. You take care of yourself and we'll take care of Thunderbird Two," Dad said in his no-nonsense voice.

Virgil could tell he was licked and didn't argue any more. He lay back down and went promptly to sleep.

We passed Gordon and Alan hovering anxiously outside Virgil's room.

"Well, how is he?" asked Alan.

"Yeah, is he awake yet?" Gordon chimed in.

"He was, but he's resting now. And when you visit him, don't talk about Thunderbird Two! He needs to relax and get better," Dad stated.

I hadn't seen Thunderbird Two since I went after Virgil the day he crashed. So when Dad offered to take me downstairs to have a look at her, I was anxious to go.

Brains and Tin-Tin had hauled Two into her silo and had begun to assess the damage. From an overhead walkway, Dad and I were able to take a good look at her.

"Boy, what a mess!" I said, shocked at what the explosives, fire and the crash had done. Thunderbird Two was a burned out hulk.

"Once the new components arrive, we'll have to work round the clock to get her right," Dad commented.

I could only think about the sheer extent of the damage and the logistical nightmare this repair would be. "This is the tricky part of our operation, trying to keep everything secret," I replied.

"Look, Scott, we order each component from different aircraft corporations. None of them know what they're making. It's only when they arrive here that the jigsaw fits together," Dad sounded almost defensive.

"I guess I worry too much," I said with a sigh and turned away.

I thought about just how vulnerable International Rescue is. I remembered the near-misses, my brothers' close-calls, those missiles and the sheer damage they had done to my brother and Thunderbird Two. I thought about the future and the likelihood that someone I cared about would be targeted again, whether by a stupid navy officer or a greedy terrorist. I decided then that if my worry means keeping them safe the next time, then I'll keep worrying.


End file.
